


A Lost Fiddle

by Mozart_the_Meerkitten



Series: Wingfeather Falls Crossover [4]
Category: Gravity Falls, The Wingfeather Saga - Andrew Peterson
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Low Self-Esteem, Self Loathing, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozart_the_Meerkitten/pseuds/Mozart_the_Meerkitten
Summary: After an accident in Castle Rysen, Fiddleford assumes the Wingfeathers will cast him out and runs away. Instead, the Wingfeathers frantically try and find him, and save him from doing something that cannot be fixed.
Series: Wingfeather Falls Crossover [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966000
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> ****WARNING**** this story contains suicidal thoughts, discussions of suicide and a not-quite suicide attempt. This story is a part of my "Fiddle in Anniera" stories, but it's darker and deals with more mature themes so I decided it needed its own thing so I could rate it properly. I'm kind of nervous about posting this because it's not what I normally post, so please let me know if you like it.
> 
> In terms of time that's passed, this takes place maybe a week or so after my last Fiddle in Anniera story, so Fidds has been there a few months. I wanted to explore what would happen if he actually did make a big mistake, something that couldn't be easily fixed, and how the family would react to it. It's important to Fiddleford's character development and their found family dynamic, but since there's no overarching plot to these stories missing one is not the end of the world and I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable with the content of this story so here we are.

Fiddleford hummed cheerfully to himself as he wandered into one of the unfinished sections of Castle Rysen in the gray light before morning. He had been working on a new invention all night and wanted to test it before the Wingfeathers were up. He had decided the best thing to do to avoid waking them was to come here where there weren’t any people to speak of.

Scaffolding and half-finished walls rose up around him, casting the ground in shadow. A cool breeze was blowing, whistling through the empty, open halls of the castle. Fiddleford reached into his satchel and pulled out a large black glove with a hole in the center of it. He supposed the proper term for it would be a concussion glove, but he was rather fond of the name “knock out glove” and had been calling it that as he was making it.

“Alrighty then, let’s see iffin you’ll work for me,” he said, pulling it on. He looked up and aimed the glove, squinting one eye shut and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth. Then he hit the button on the inside of the glove.

BOOM

Fiddleford was thrown back against a stack of stones behind him as force EXPLODED out of the glove. He winced, rubbing his head.

Then he heard a terrible CRASH and panic shot through his whole body. He looked up and saw the scaffolding begin to collapse around him. Stones, wood, and tools rained down on him and he shrieked and covered his head with his arms.

After what seemed like an eternity of noise and terror there was silence. Fiddleford shoved debris off himself and staggered to his feet to behold the destruction his invention had caused.

Clouds of dust hung in the air. Piles of stone and wood were scattered across the ground. The walls had caved in and the scaffolding was completely destroyed. Even in the dim, dusty light, Fiddleford could tell that everything was ruined.

_He_ had ruined everything.

Pain panged through his chest and all at once he couldn’t breathe. He stumbled backward, gasping lungfuls of air and coughing as the dust got stuck in his throat and chest. He crashed to his knees and curled up on the ground, wheezing and shaking, tears running down his cheeks.

He had _ruined_ it. The Wingfeathers were trying to rebuild their castle and he’d just destroyed a part of it with his carelessness. He should have known better, should have known that he wasn’t good at anything but making things break.

They were going to see he wasn’t any good. The thought hit him with the force of all the stones in the ruined courtyard. This wasn’t like breaking a pot or asking for help after a nightmare. This was far more than a simple inconvenience and he knew there was no way it could possibly be brushed aside or ignored or justified, _or forgiven_. A sob broke out of him and he squeezed himself tighter. They would make him leave, they would send him away and he would deserve it. Anything good that he was given he would only break. The Wingfeathers were too good for him, they always had been, they didn’t deserve to have to deal with him.

Fiddleford sat up, still shaking. He needed to leave. As soon as they found out what he had done they would throw him out and he couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t bear seeing Kalmar and Leeli and Janner and Sara and Artham and Nia and Aurendelle and all the others hate him. It would break him all over again. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but…

“But yer selfish,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. “Can’t-can’t bear seein’ all them little ‘uns angry, and Artham-” his voice broke and he sobbed, shaking his head. “I gotta get outta here.”

He stood unsteadily and hurried away from the destruction, hoping desperately that he could get out of the castle before the Wingfeathers woke.

****

Fiddleford was frantically shoving things into his patched backpack and trying to ignore the pounding in his head when a soft _mew_ made him nearly jump out of his skin.

He looked over to see little Dora watching him, her head tilted to one side. He felt tears filling his eyes again and reached over and scooped up the kitten.  
“I-I’m sorry, little ‘un,” he said, quietly. “But I-I have to go. You- y’can’t come with me. You might get hurt or sick or eaten by somethin’ and I couldn’t bear that. I, you’ll be safe here, happy, with them kids and-” he shut his eyes, shaking too badly to continue.

Dora purred loudly in his arms, rubbing her fluffy head against his chin. Abruptly he set her down and scrambled up, hefting his pack onto his back.

“I-I-I gotta go,” he told the kitten, blinking back tears. “I’m s-s-sorry.”

He hurried out of the room, taping a note to the door as he left, and trotted down the hall.

It took a few moments for the sense of someone following him to penetrate his grief and when he whipped around he saw Dora hurrying along after him. Upon seeing that he’d stopped, she dashed forward and stopped next to him, looking up at him with what he could have sworn was a smile.

His heart broke and he shook his head. “No, no little Dors, you gotta stay here. S-st-stay here,” he made a shooing motion with his hands. Dora watched him, amused.  
“Aw gosh darn it!” Fiddleford snapped, stomping his foot. “Git outta here! Git!” he shouted and waved his hands at her. Dora danced back, scrambling back against the wall and watching him with wide eyes. Fiddleford felt more tears spill down his cheeks and he shook his head.  
“I’m tryin’ to help you,” he said softly. “Y-y’can’t come with me.”

He started down the hall again and this time refused to look back, afraid to see Dora’s betrayed little face again.

Fiddleford hurried along until he reached the door that led out of the castle. He pushed it open and headed across the lawn to the unfinished part of the outer wall.

An excited _mrrrowl!_ Sounded behind him and he turned around to see Dora shooting across the grass towards him. She skidded to a halt next to his legs again and looked up at him with such love and affection in her eyes-

Fiddleford sank to his knees and the kitten walked up and stood up with her front paws on his chest and licked the tears off his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up, burying his face in her soft fur.

“Aright, aright, you can come,” he whispered to her. “Guess, guess I can’t stop ya. Loyal little critter.”

After a few moments he stood and started walking again, with Dora happily following after him.


	2. Morning Discoveries

The Wingfeather family’s morning started out as it normally did, with breakfast. They ate and chatted about the day to come, blissfully ignorant to the crisis that was about to come to light.

Then Artham Wingfeather shot through the door, his wings fluffed out and a worried look on his face. His eyes were wide and his chest heaved like he’d run through the whole castle. In one hand he clutched a piece of paper.

“Artham, what’s wrong?” asked Nia even as Aurendelle stood and walked over to her husband, looking concerned.  
“F-Fiddleford’s gone,” said Artham, his voice shaking.   
“What?!” Kal yelped, jumping up from his seat. “Gone where?”  
Artham’s head and wings drooped. “I don’t know. He left this note on his door.”

He handed it to Aurendelle, who smoothed the paper and started to read.

_‘Dear Wingfeathers,_

_I’m real, real sorry. I’m sorry for always causin’ you trouble an’ for what I did today. I didn’t mean to, I promise I didn’t mean to. If I’d known my invention was gonna blow up everythin’ I’d never have done it. But I know it ain’t something you can just fix and forgive, an’ I know you ain’t gonna want me around after this, so I’m just gonna save you the trouble of kickin’ me out and go. And I can’t bear seein’ y’all mad at me. I’m sorry, I’m real sorry for knockin’ down a part of your castle. I’ll go far away an’ you’ll never have to worry about me doin’ nothin’ like that again._

_I’m sorry  
-Fiddleford_

Aurendelle pressed a hand to her mouth and looked at Artham. “He knocked down part of the castle?”  
Artham had sunk to the ground and sat there, staring at nothing. He nodded slowly. “The part we’ve been working on rebuilding. The walls and scaffolding are all knocked down. I don’t know-” Artham’s voice shook. “I don’t know how he wasn’t killed, it-it-” he covered his face with his hands.

“We have to find him,” said Kalmar firmly. “We’ll split up and search the island. Janner and I will go together, and mama and Aurendelle and Leeli and Sara. Uncle Artham, you fly up and see if you can spot him from the sky.”  
“I’ll get the dogs looking for him,” said Leeli, hopping down from her chair.   
“We’ll need to make lunches,” said Nia. “Before you go, Leeli, Sara, come to the kitchen and help me make up something for us to take along.”  
“I’ll find grandpa and tell him, I bet he’ll help us look too,” said Janner.

Artham rubbed the tears out of his eyes and stood. “I’ll start searching. With any luck he hasn’t gotten very far.” He leaned over and briefly pressed a kiss to Aurendelle’s forehead, then shot out in the hall again.

“Alright,” said Kalmar, hurrying after him. “Let’s go, everybody!”

****

Fiddleford stumbled along through the foothills of Anniera’s mountains, Dora trotting gamely by his side. It had been a good couple of hours since he’d left the castle and he was getting tired. He had worked all night and getting knocked back by the explosion had left him aching all over.

Finally, when he couldn’t go any further, he slipped under an overhanging rock and sat down with a sigh. Dora sat down beside him, rubbing her head against his hand. Absently he scratched behind her ears and she started purring like a tiny motor. In spite of everything he smiled. It was good to have a little friend with him.

He dozed off, and when he woke Dora was curled up on his chest. When he started to move she yawned and sat up, giving him a plaintive little mew.

“Aw, you’re probably hungry, ain’t you?” he said. He started to sit up, then gasped as pain shot through his chest and back. He winced and eased himself up more carefully.

“Not as young as I used to be I guess,” he said. His arms hurt too, but less, and he was glad that he’d put the backpack within easy reach. He rummaged through it and pulled out a few pieces of dried meat, glad he’d thought to raid the kitchen before he left (though still feeling slightly guilty about it). He gave one to Dora and nibbled on another. The kitten gobbled hers up and went over to lick his fingers when he was done.

“Sorry I can’t give ya more,” he said. “But we gotta ration it till I can find some other way to feed us,” he stroked his beard absently. “We can find a cave to live in in the mountains, someplace we can’t bother nobody.”

His heart hurt just thinking of being on his own again, but it couldn’t be helped. Wherever he went he only caused trouble, and it was better for him to just stay out of other people’s way.

He got his feet under him and slowly tried to stand, bracing one hand against the wall of their shelter. His body protested mightily, but he managed to stand-

Until a sharp pain stabbed into his head. He cried out and fell back, letting out a yelp as he crashed into the ground and jarred his already aching injuries.

The first thing he was aware of outside of the pain was Dora licking his nose. He cracked his eyes open and saw her standing in front of him, head tilted in concern. Then he felt damp spots on his cheeks and realized he’d been crying.

“Guess, guess we’ll stay here a little while, miss Dora,” he said in a quivering voice. Weakly he reached out and petted her, and she came over and slipped under his chin, purring as loudly as ever. Fiddleford gave her a shaky little smile and closed his eyes, exhausted.

****

Artham flew down and landed in front of Nia and Aurendelle. He looked frantic, with his wide eyes, shaking hands and quivering wings. Aurendelle immediately walked over and held him tight. He held her back desperately, pressing his face into her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few moments, before Artham took a deep breath and pulled back a bit, his head down. “I couldn’t find a sign of him _anywhere_ ,” he whispered. “It’s like he’s just disappeared.”  
Aurendelle frowned. “You don’t think he would have used one of those portals, do you?”  
“No,” Artham shook his head. “I checked his room straightaway, the second portal detector he built is still there.”  
“Then he must be on the island somewhere,” said Nia, firmly. “We just haven’t found him yet.”  
“Leeli’s got all the dogs in her command looking for him,” said Aurendelle. “And Sara sent out a message to her children to watch for him.”  
“And papa went down to the harbor to make sure he didn’t try to board a ship and sail off,” added Nia. “We’ll find him, Artham.”

Artham nodded, but he still didn’t look up. “I should have kept a better eye on him,” he said quietly.  
“This is not your fault,” said Aurendelle, lifting up his chin so she could look into his eyes. “It’s just an accident that got out of hand. We’ll find him and all will be well, you’ll see.”

Artham stepped back and shook his head. He looked up and gave them both a sad smile. “If I were a better Throne Warden maybe I’d actually be there when my friends and family need me. Then maybe I wouldn’t keep losing people.”

Aurendelle reached for him, but he spread his wings and shot into the sky. Nia walked over and put a hand on her friend’s shoulder as they watched him fly away. Aurendelle took a deep breath and looked back at the land before them with a renewed determination.

“Come on,” she said to Nia. “If cloven could find lost ones in the maze of the Blackwood we can find one lost man in the hills of our home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *that unfortunate moment when you accidentally hide from your family*  
> Dora's internal commentary is just: Dad, dad are you okay? Dad- oh no he fell over. Dad? Oh good he's okay. Better purr really loud so he knows I love him.
> 
> Also baby Dora is about 3 months old.


	3. Rocks and Rivers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Fiddleford continues to have a very bad day. 
> 
> I did not read over this chapter, take it as it is.

When Fiddleford woke it was late afternoon. Slowly he eased himself up into a sitting position, wincing a little. He still hurt, but it seemed more bearable than earlier. Curiously he ran his hand over the back of his head and discovered a knot there where he must have hit the stones earlier. When he pulled his hand back, however, he was surprised to find flecks of dried blood on it.

“Well that ain’t good,” he muttered. He sighed and looked down at Dora, still curled up asleep beside him. Gently he ran a hand over her fluff, marveling at the fact that the kitten liked him enough to follow him.

Dora twitched at the touch and stretched. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at him.  
He chuckled and rubbed her belly. Her little paws reached up and grasped his hand and she- gently- bit one of his fingers. He tapped her on the nose and shook his head.  
“No bitin’,” he told her. “Can’t have you bitin’. Though, I guess since its only the two of us now…” he looked down, then shook his head. “Anyway, we’d best be getting’ goin’, Dors.”

Carefully he got to his feet and reached down for the backpack. A wave of dizziness overtook him and he stumbled back, but didn’t fall this time. He waited until it had passed, then took a deep breath.

“Guess I did hit my head pretty hard,” he said. “Just have to take things easy then. C’mon, Dora.”  
He walked out from under the overhang and after a moment he heard the patter of paws in the dirt and Dora appeared beside him. He smiled a little. “You’re a good lil travelin’ buddy, y’know that?” he told her.  
“Mew,” said Dora, looking up at him curiously. He grinned.  
“Let’s see if we can find ourselves a nice cave before sundown, eh Dors?” he said.

Dora gave a mew of agreement. After that they walked in silence for a while, until a rushing sound began to build in Fiddleford’s ears. He frowned and kept on until they crested a rise. Then he stopped and stared openmouthed at the sight before him.

There, in a large blue band running along the feet of the mountains, snaked the River Rysen. He traced the river back and saw that it came down out of the mountains. Later in its journey, he knew, it would pass by Castle Rysen, and then flow out to the sea.

“Well, if we follow the river up into the mountains maybe we kin find its source, an’ then maybe we can have ourselves fresh water,” he said thoughtfully. “But first we’re gonna have to find a way across that thing.”

With this thought in mind he set off towards the river. He stopped on the bank and watched it. The part they’d stumbled on was fast, but not as wide as the part down by the castle. It would be easy to get to the other side if they could find some rocks or a tree trunk to cross.

Fiddleford walked along the riverbank for a bit, watching for anything that might serve as a bridge. Finally he found a spot with six great rocks rising out of the water, spaced at a distance he was confident he could jump. Before he made the attempt he checked to make sure his pack was tied shut and his banjo was still securely attached to it.

“Aright,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothin’.”

Fiddleford took a running jump and landed easily on the first of the rocks. He cackled, grinning, excitement and adrenaline momentarily banishing his aches. He rubbed his hand together and eyed the next rock, measuring the distance in his mind.

Then, all at once, a wail cut through his thoughts. He whipped around and saw little Dora sitting on the bank, yowling her distress to the sky.  
“Whoops!” he slapped a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, Dors! I’m comin’!” he backed up to the edge of the rock he was on and ran forward, hoping he’d make it to the bank.  
He did, but when he landed he crashed to the ground and jarred all his old injuries. He grit his teeth and tried to push the pain to the back of his mind. This had been his mistake, after all, he shouldn’t have forgotten his little companion.

“I’m right sorry, Dora,” he said, picking her up. She purred and dug her claws into his shirt. “Yeah, that’s right, hang on to me real good, because now we gotta go back an’ git ourselves across this river.”

Fiddleford steeled himself and made the jump a third time. He swayed a little when he landed this time, and the impact jarred him, but he ignored it as best he could.  
Dora was not particularly thrilled to be jumping across stones in the middle of a river. She squirmed anxiously in his grasp and whimpered. He kept a tight hold of her. If she fell into the river and got swept away he’d never forgive himself.

Fiddleford hopped across four more stones before he encountered a problem. The sixth and final stone was farther away than he had thought. He wasn’t sure he could jump the distance, but…

He glanced behind him. He couldn’t go back. He _couldn’t_ go back. 

“Alright,” he pulled his hat down tight and readied himself. Dora, after she had realized he wasn’t going to drop her, had stilled and was clinging to his shirt with all her might.

Fiddleford gave a mighty yell and leaped forward, one hand outstretched to grab the edge of the rock if he didn’t make it.

He knew as soon as he jumped that he’d miscalculated.

Fiddleford crashed into the cold water. He gasped and spluttered, the current pushing him under. Frantically he kicked up and his head broke the surface. He tried to swim, but the current was too strong, and bore him along as if he were nothing more than a twig or a leaf.

He heard a shriek and looked over to see Dora’s head bobbing along not far from him. He felt a jolt go through his heart, and he swam sideways through the water till he reached her. He grabbed the kitten and stuck her on his shoulder. He felt her claws clamp down through his shirt and into his skin and fought to keep both their heads above water.

The water wasn’t freezing, but it was cold. Fiddleford knew they didn’t have long before he was too weak to keep them afloat- or until they were bashed into more rocks. He had to get them out before then.

He twisted his head around, trying desperately to see if there were any roots or tree branches he could grab onto. There were not. Why was that? He didn’t remember. He needed to get out of the water. Needed to-

There! Not far ahead of them was a rock poking up out of the water. Fiddleford reached out and grabbed onto it as they went by and clung to it for dear life. Dora scrambled off his shoulder and stood on the very tip top of the rock- which was just big enough for her to stand on without being in the water.

Fiddleford’s chest heaved and he fought against the fog slipping into his mind. The bank wasn’t far from them, but he’d never be able to swim to it while the current was so strong. But if he let them continue to be swept down the river they could be thrown into rapids or over a waterfall or he might pass out and Dora would never be able to make it out on her own-

His attention turned to the rock he was clinging to. It _was_ close to the bank, if he got on top of it he might be able to jump the distance.

With a great effort he heaved himself up onto the rock. He scooped Dora up in one arm and stared at the gap before them.   
_‘C’mon, Fiddleford, you can do this. You gotta.’_

Fiddleford took a deep breath and jumped.

For the second time that day he crashed into the bank. He tossed Dora onto it and frantically gripped the grass at the edge of it, pulling himself up until finally, _finally_ , he was on solid ground. He rolled over onto his back and lay there, wheezing, eyes shut.

It was getting dark by the time Fiddleford managed to roll over with a groan and carefully sit up. He fought back another wave of dizziness and pressed a hand to his forehead. Except-

Fiddleford frowned and patted his head. It was bare except for his short, scruffy patch of hair.   
“My hat!” he yelled, shooting to his feet. He regretted that immediately when more dizziness overtook him, as well as an overwhelming amount of pain shooting through every part of his body. He half fell to the ground and rubbed his damp eyes. “Lost m’hat,” he mumbled in disbelief. “Thirty years an’ you lost your hat, Fiddleford.”

A damp, soft thing rubbed against his hand and he looked down. Dora looked up at him and gave him a tired mew.  
“Guess at least I still got you,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m real sorry about that, Dora. I-I hope you ain’t mad at me for droppin’ you in the water an’ almost drownin’ you on accident.”  
In answer, Dora gently bit the end of his finger, then set to licking it. In spite of everything, Fiddleford chuckled.  
“I’ll take that as a no then,” he said.

With an effort, Fiddleford reached over and pulled his backpack to him. He still had that, at least. He opened it up and found that the things inside were damp, but not soaked. He had tried to waterproof the bag, but it had too many patches at this point for water to not creep in. He didn’t think it had damaged anything though. He rummaged through and pulled out some drier clothes that he painstakingly changed into. Then he took one of his shirts and used it to dry Dora off a bit.

He pulled out a piece of dried meat for Dora and a dryish roll for himself to nibble on. He wasn’t very hungry though, just bone-tired. He looked up at the darkening sky and sighed.

“What’cha say we just camp here for the night, Dora?” he asked.  
In answer, Dora walked over and hopped into his lap. He smiled and curled up on his side, Dora snuggled against his chest.

****

It was getting dark when Artham spotted something bobbing along in the River Rysen, not far from the castle. He swooped down and picked it up out of the water then landed on the bank.

Artham’s heart sank, and a deep dread enveloped him when he recognized the ragged shape of Fiddleford’s hat. Clutching it in one hand he shot back into the air and sped over the river, eyes searching frantically. Try as he might though, he could find no sign of his friend.

Finally the dark, cloudy night defeated even his keen eyesight, and Artham flew despondently back to castle Rysen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford: *has a concussion and barely eats during the day* Why am I dizzy
> 
> hhhh, it gets worse before it gets better, folks! :)))


	4. If I wasn't here tomorrow, would anybody care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we get into the suicidal thoughts.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from the Skillet song, "Would it Matter" which is also the inspiration for this story. Listen to it if you want feels. :)))

Fiddleford woke in the middle of the night shivering fiercely. He reached for his bag and winced at how stiff he was. He dug through the bag until his hand brushed the soft fabric of his sweater. Sitting up he shut his eyes against the dizziness and pulled it on. He hugged himself, curling up and willing himself to stop shaking and his teeth to stop chattering. What was he going to do in the winter? This was only the beginning of summer. How was he going to survive when it truly got cold and all he had was one sweater? He didn’t have boots or a coat or-

_‘I’ll figure that out if I get that far,’_ he told himself. _‘No good worryin’ about somethin’ that’s months away.’_

Or…

He looked up at the river, at the water rushing past him not three feet away. He could let the water carry him away, let it numb him until he sunk under the waves and he wouldn’t have to feel anything, he wouldn’t have to worry-

Fiddleford shook his head. _‘Stop that. We’re not doin’ that now. You’re gonna go up in the mountains and-’_

‘ _And what?’_ mocked the voice in his head. _‘Hide in a cave all alone? Why? There’s no one to want you, no one to miss you. You would never have to worry about anything ever again. You could just slip away and no one would even know…’_

Fiddleford squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head violently and sprang to his feet. “We just gotta keep goin’ is all, I ain’t payin’ you no mind,” he said aloud, though his voice shook.

This wasn’t the first time the voice had suggested this. His mind had been too scattered for thirty years to hold onto a thought for long, but in the long nights since he started to get his memory back he had often thought about climbing onto the roof of the mansion and-

He found that usually the best way to dispel those thoughts was to start doing something, so he picked up his backpack and gently woke Dora then set off in the direction of the mountains.

He did his best to push away the pain and the cold and the voice. And as he did another thought came to him, one that made him stop and start to shake for an entirely new reason as tears slid down his cheeks.

This was the first time he’d heard the voice since he’d come to Anniera.

****

“I’m sure he’s okay, uncle Artham.”  
“Yeah, Fiddleford’s really smart, he’ll be okay.”  
“And we’ll definitely find him tomorrow.”  
“Yeah! If I have to I’ll get everybody in Anniera looking for him.”

Artham listened to the children’s assurances as they hugged him and patted his wings and shoulders and tromped off to bed. Artham didn’t respond to them. He just sat on a stool with his head down and his wings hanging listlessly beside him. He absently ran his fingers over Fiddleford’s still wet hat that he hadn’t let go of since he’d found it.

“They’re right, Artham,” said Aurendelle gently, kneeling in front of him. “I’m sure he only lost his hat on accident. Maybe the wind blew it off or something.”  
Artham shook his head. “Te’s hook it flying. Took it flying,” he managed quietly. “Bever nid defore.”  
Aurendelle pressed a hand to his cheek and stroked it gently. “We’ll find him, love.”  
“Shouldn’t have host lim. Lost him.”  
“You didn’t lose him,” said Nia, firmly. “He left. There’s a difference. And none of us realized- none of us could have stopped him, Artham, we didn’t even realize this was a problem.”  
“Aye,” agreed Podo. “No good’s going to come of you blaming yourself for this.”

Artham didn’t look at any of them. There wasn’t any way to make them understand. He had lost his brother, and Janner, and now Fiddleford. If he had done better, been there more, paid more attention, he could have prevented all of it. But as it was Esben was dead and Janner had died and only lived now because of the will of the Maker and the First Well, and if he lost Fiddleford as well he wasn’t sure what his sanity would survive. What kind of a Throne Warden was he if he couldn’t even keep his friends and family safe?

A failure. That’s what he was. A terrible Throne Warden and a terrible uncle and a terrible friend.

Tears sprang into his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He felt Aurendelle take his hand and quite literally lift him up. He blinked open watery eyes and looked into her determined ones.

“This is not your fault,” she said softly. “None of it was.”  
A sob escaped him and he shook his head. Aurendelle pressed her forehead against his.  
“Come on, my love, it’s time to sleep,” she said. “All will be brighter and more hopeful in the morning.”

Artham allowed her to guide him back to their room. He let her help him into his nightclothes and tuck him under the covers. A few moments later she joined him and gently stroked her hand through his hair.

“Do not give up my love,” she whispered. “The Maker can bring good of this too. And even broken, _especially_ broken, you mean everything to me.”

She kissed him softly, then stayed there, her head resting against his, her hand on his hair. Slowly Artham felt exhaustion take him over and he gave in. He wrapped his arms around Aurendelle and tucked his head under her chin. She held him back and Artham finally allowed his mind to drift to sleep.

****

“Alright,” said Kalmar at breakfast the next morning. His fingers still sticky with jam, he threw a map over the table and spread it out. “Leeli said that the dogs lost Fidds’s trail at River Rysen,” Kalmar pointed to the spot, leaving a red smudge of jam there. “So we should search around it and see if we can find any sign of him. We should also check the Dark Sea though, in case, uh,” he glanced worriedly at Artham. “In case he got swept out there and somebody picked him up. Grandpa, can you round up some people to check any ships within a day’s sail of Anniera?”  
“Aye, sure I can,” said Podo, nodding.  
“If we can find a place to cross the river I bet the dogs can pick up the trail again,” said Leeli.  
“It’ll get harder in the mountains,” said Artham quietly. “Tracking anything through the mountains was always difficult.”  
The children glanced over at him, then looked back at each other, all silently glad that their uncle seemed less upset than last night.  
“Well it’s a good thing we’ve got someone with wings then,” said Sara in as cheerful a voice as she could muster.  
Artham smiled crookedly. “I suppose so.”

A great deal of tension evaporated out of the room, and the children got back to their planning.

“Maybe we could make a bridge across the river,” said Janner. “Just a temporary one. That way when we do find Fiddleford we can get back easily.”  
“And then when we get him back maybe he can build us a better one,” said Kal, grinning. “One that’s all shiny and new and made out of metal.”  
Leeli giggled and Sara hid a smile.

“Alright, Janner and I will try to make a bridge,” said Kal. “Leeli you can come with us and bring the dogs.”  
“And your whistleharp,” said Sara. “Maybe he’ll hear it.”  
Leeli nodded firmly.  
“We’ll all come and help,” said Nia. “I don’t like the idea of you two boys trying to build a bridge by yourself.”  
“I’d go with them,” said Sara. “I can make sure they don’t drown.”  
“Maybe the rest of us can search the nearby banks,” suggested Aurendelle. “And keep an eye on the bridge.”  
“I can get the dogs to fetch supplies!” added Leeli.  
“Great!” Kal clapped his hands together then turned to Artham. “Uncle Artham, you’ll keep searching from the sky, right?”  
Artham nodded. “Of course.”  
“Okay!” Kal stood, rolling up the map and smudging more jelly on it. “Let’s get to work then.”

****

Fiddleford walked through the rest of the night and well into the morning, until every muscle and bone in his body screamed at him to stop and he sank to the ground in the shade of a boulder. A few moments later, Dora joined him, panting, and flopped down beside him.

“Aw, sorry Dors,” he said, patting her head. “I ferget you’re just a little thing.”

Dora glanced up at him, but didn’t answer. Fiddleford pulled out a piece of meat from his backpack and gave it to her and it seemed to revive her a bit. When she was done she climbed onto his lap and rubbed her head against his chin, purring.

“Least you like me,” he said, quietly. “Nobody else does. Ain’t their fault though, I’m just trouble,” he looked up, staring at nothing. “I ruined a lot a’things for a lotta people. I made a memory gun and used it to forget y’see, and then I used it on other people to help them. ‘Cept it didn’t really help, an’ it messed up a lotta people’s lives, I think. An’ my wife left me because I went crazy an’ my son-” his voice broke. “I guess he hates me now. Can’t blame him, I abandoned him when he was just a kid. An’ now I’ve gone and wrecked the Wingfeather’s castle. I thought I had a chance with them, I really did, but I messed up good,” he swiped away the tears gathering in his eyes. “An’ now I’m runnin’ away to hide in the mountains an’, an’ I even managed to ruin things for you, Dors. Iffin’ I’d’ve stayed you’d’ve stayed too, an’ then you’d had all them kids to fawn over you and you’d never have’ta worry about bein’ cold or hungry, but y’ran off with me an now I-”

Fiddleford buried his face in his hands and cried. Dora gave a concerned little mew and curled up in his lap, purring.

_‘It would be better if you were dead,’_ said the voice in his head. _‘You would never bother anyone or ruin anymore lives. Everyone would be better off without you. There’s no one to even miss you if you die so what’s the point of living?’_

Fiddleford shook his head. “I-I ain’t listenin’ to you,” he said, voice shaking.

_‘No one needs you. No one wants you. Just give up.’_

Fiddleford scooped Dora into his arms and sprang to his feet, wincing at the pounding in his head and the pain that shot through him. He swung his backpack back onto his shoulders and forced himself to keep walking, though the voice remained.

_‘Just give up. Just give up. It will be better for everyone if you do. Just give up, Fiddleford.’_

Fiddleford wrapped his arms more tightly around Dora and tried to focus on the little purring bundle of fluff and each painful step he took.

Anything to drown out the voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am definitely, 100% trying to draw a parallel between the voices in Artham's head when he escaped Throg/in Warden and the Wolf King and the voice in Fiddleford's head telling him he's worthless.
> 
> Idk where that part with Artham and Aurendelle in the middle came from but it happened and I regret nothing.


	5. Would it matter if I gave it one more try?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more feels *throws them in the air like confetti* 
> 
> I think there's only three more parts left after this one, unless I get carried away.

If Fiddleford had to pick a word to describe his journey up into the mountains it would have been agonizing. As the land got steeper and harder to walk through he found himself climbing; scrambling up rocks, slipping down loose stones, and dragging himself across the ground when it got too steep.

His head pounded with a terrible headache. His hands were scratched and bleeding, and his feet ached almost too badly to walk on. His legs and arms burned, and when he breathed sometimes sharp pain shot through his chest.

Sometimes he collapsed on the ground, curled up in a trembling ball, unable to go on. Dora would always come over and curl up beside him. She was tiny, but agile, and he was glad because he felt bad he couldn’t carry her. He had tried to put her in his backpack once, but she had squirmed away and jumped to the ground, giving him a look that seemed both confused and offended. So she walked with him. And climbed, and jumped, and crawled.

Great rocks and boulders surrounded them. Every once and a while he caught sight of patches of grass or a few brave flowers, but beyond that there was little growing up here. That was worrisome, because no vegetation meant no critters to hunt, which meant they would starve, which meant-

_‘You’re killing yourself one way or another,’_ the voice said. _‘Wouldn’t it be better to just do it quickly? Or maybe you’d like to make yourself suffer, since that’s what you’ve caused others all your life. Suffering and pain. You deserve it.’_

He couldn’t argue that. Sure, he had done good things, but they seemed pointless and insignificant compared to all the bad he’d done.

But in the end he always dragged himself up again and kept going, Dora trotting along by his side.

Finally, far up one of the mountains, he found a cave.

It wasn’t deep, and he explored it thoroughly before claiming it. He smacked the walls and stomped on the floor and peered into all the nooks and crannies. Satisfied that it was fully abandoned, he plopped down on the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees, not sure what to do next. He hadn’t had a plan for after he got into the mountains and found a safe place to stay.

He supposed sleep was as good a thing to do as any, so he curled up on the ground, ignoring all the stones digging into his sides, and fell asleep.

He regretted it. Sleep was a blurry mix of nightmares and memories that he couldn’t piece apart. Stanford yelling at him about something. A robot marching down the street crushing cars. Artham and Kalmar giving him disgusted looks. Darkness and someone (him?) screaming.

But the worst of all was the nightmare where the whole Wingfeather family stood before him looking angry and repulsed, and Kalmar stepped forward. The boy looked him in the eye and shoved him to the ground, yelling, “You’re not one of us! I should never have let you stay in Anniera! Get out!”

Fiddleford jerked awake with a sob, his heart pounding. He scrambled up and pressed himself against the wall, tears streaming down his cheeks.

_‘You see all the trouble you’ve caused? Nobody wants you. Everyone_ hates _you. It would be better for everyone if you were dead.’_

Fiddleford shook his head, but the tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the voice.

****

Artham had flown over the island at least a hundred times. But even with his keen sight Fiddleford eluded him. It was maddening to know his friend was out there, lost, alone, convinced they all hated him, and Artham could do _nothing_ about it.

Memories sprang unbidden into his mind; seeing Esben the cloven sprawled in the Hollows, dying, while Artham was trapped a world away in Skree; Janner’s broken, dried up body laying in the sand when Artham finally arrived in Anniera, too late to help with anything. Too late to help. Too late to save anyone.

He would _not_ be too late again.

His wings and back ached. Artham flew every day but not like this. Not so close to the ground, where there weren’t many air currents to ride on, not flying back and forth all day, straining his eyes till they burned.

The others were having no more luck than he. Janner’s bridge idea had worked, but they had not been able to pick up Fiddleford’s trail again. Not even Leeli’s music had brought their friend out. And now it was drawing on towards evening and they would have to go back to the castle Fiddle-less again.

Artham flew through the mountains again, pleading with the Maker to show him where his friend was, calling Fiddleford’s name until his voice was hoarse.

He found nothing.

Finally it grew too dark for him to see again and he flew back to Castle Rysen. He landed on one of the towers and had barely taken two steps inside when he fell to his knees and bowed his head, eyes shut tight.

“Please, please let us find him. I can’t fail again, I can’t, I can’t. I can’t lose anyone else. I need him to be alright. Please, please protect him and bring him back to us.”

He stayed there, praying, pleading, for what felt like hours before he finally rose to his feet and went to find the others.

They were in the sitting room, looking as discouraged as he felt. The children looked especially upset tonight; the four of them sat together on the floor, leaning against each other. Kalmar held Fiddleford’s hat, running his hands absently over the ragged edges of it.

They looked up when he entered and for a moment they looked hopeful and Artham felt an ache travel through his heart.

“Did you find anything, uncle Artham?” Kalmar asked.  
Artham couldn’t meet his eyes. “No.”

The children slumped, defeated. Artham walked over to where Aurendelle sat in a chair and sat down at her feet. He felt her hand reach out and stroke his hair and he sighed.

The family was quiet for a while. Not even Nia seemed to have anything encouraging to say. Finally, Kalmar lifted his head and the little king spoke.

“Tomorrow morning I’m issuing a decree to everyone in the castle and everyone on the whole island who’s not doing something essential. We’re going to go out into the mountains together and look for Fiddleford and we’re not coming back until we find him,” Kalmar announced. He looked around at the others, daring someone to challenge him. No one did, so he continued. “We’ll camp out in the mountains tomorrow night if we have to, and we’ll take torches and lamps and look for as long as we can. Somebody _has_ to find him eventually.”  
“Spoken like a true king,” said Nia, and Artham thought she sounded proud. He was proud too, but it was hard not to feel like it was hopeless, even in the face of Kalmar’s determination.

He didn’t say what he was thinking, what he was afraid of. That they would find Fiddleford dead in the mountains, or washed up on the shores of the island a few days from now. And even if Fiddleford were still alive it wasn’t as if he could survive in the mountains for long. There were precious few animals and plants on Anniera after it had been ravaged by fire for nine long years, and even less than usual up in the mountains. And there were many caves and hideaways in the mountains (he and Esben had explored them when they were young), if Fiddleford was tucked away in one he might starve before they could find him.

Artham didn’t realize he was shaking and muttering until he felt a little hand on his shoulder and looked up into Leeli’s determined eyes.  
“I think you should sing when you fly around the mountains,” she told him. “Maybe he’ll hear you and come out.”  
“Maybe we should all sing,” said Sara.  
“Well, everybody who’s any good at it,” said Kalmar, glancing at Janner.   
Janner snorted and shook his head. “It worked, didn’t it?”  
“That is a wonderful idea, Sara, Leeli,” said Nia. “Kalmar, you should add that into your address.”  
“I will, mama,” said Kal, nodding.

Leeli patted Artham on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, uncle Artham, tomorrow everything’s going to turn out okay. You’ll see.”

Artham blinked. She said it with such confidence that it was hard not to believe her.

Finally he nodded at her. “Alright,” he whispered. “One more try.”


	6. Would it matter at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We come now to the climax of the feels. Two more parts after this.

Fiddleford sat at the opening to his cave, watching the sun rise. All night he had fought with the voice and his memories and nightmares. Now he was tired.

Was every night going to be like this now? Full of pain and despair and nightmares? He didn’t want that. But there wasn’t anything left for him anywhere, there was no one to want him and there wasn’t, there wasn’t…

There wasn’t really any point in living anymore, was there? He had nothing and no one. No purpose, no family, no friends.

“The world’s better off without me,” he said, quietly. _‘An’ there ain’t no point in livin’ if I’m all alone. I tried that an’ when I got a second chance I…’_ tears sprang into his eyes. _‘I ruined it again. That’s all I’m good for; messin’ things up. So you’d better just go an’ get it over with, Fiddleford.’_

He stayed there, watching the sky get brighter and fill with color, and his heart ached.

The sun rose, but clouds covered it, and it looked like it was going to rain soon. Fiddleford knew he’d never be able to get up the cliff in the rain and mud so he ought to get moving. But he was so tired and he still hurt all over.

Finally, slowly, he got himself to stand, bracing himself against the cave wall as he rode out the usual dizziness. Then he took a deep breath and started walking out to the great cliff he’d seen yesterday.

The walk was an easy one, which was good because he wouldn’t have managed it otherwise. At least whatever happened after this it would all be over. The guilt, the pain, it would be gone. Maybe he could forget again. That would be nice. Forgetting.

The cliff rose up high above the Dark Sea of Darkness, and far below him waves crashed into the isle of Anniera. If the fall didn’t kill him he’d either drown or be bashed into the cliffs.

Fiddleford walked to the very edge of it and looked up at the dark sky. He sighed and shut his eyes.

****

Artham Wingfeather felt a jolt in his chest and all of a sudden he knew exactly where he needed to go to find his friend. High up in the mountains of Anniera stood a cliff that he and Esben had climbed once when they were boys. They had stood there and watched the sunset and later camped in a little cave nearby.

That was where Fiddleford was.

Artham turned and shot in that direction as fast as his wings would take him.

****

Fiddleford started to step forward off the cliff, ready to fall into the air and forget everything.

Then he heard a small mew.

Fiddleford pulled his foot back onto the cliff and froze. Dora stood beside him, staring down the side of the cliff curiously. She looked up at him, tilting her head.

Then she rubbed against his ankles and she started purring like a motor.

Fiddleford stumbled back away from the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees. Dora walked up and pressed her paws to his chest, rubbing her head against his chin.

“I-I,” Fiddleford wrapped his arms around her and held her. “I plum forgot about you, little Dora, I-” he swallowed hard and hugged her. “I guess I got you to look after, don’t I? I c-can’t be goin’ an’ leavin’ you behind, c-c-can I?”

He’d forgotten about Dora. He still had her to look after. She was too little to survive on her own, and all alone up in the mountains-

He hugged the kitten tighter and buried his face in her fur. “I’m sorry, Dors,” he whispered. “I won’t leave you. I’ll find somebody to look after you iffin I- I won’t leave you alone is all. G-g-guess somebody needs me.”

Shakily he stood, still clutching Dora tight in his arms.

Then all at once he heard a _whoosh_ and he whipped around to see-

“A-A-Artham?” Fiddleford took half a step back, his eyes wide.  
“Fiddleford!” Artham held up his hands. “Fiddleford, listen, whatever you’re thinking I-”  
“L-l-look I-I’m sorry about what happened,” said Fiddleford, taking another step back. “I-I never meant f-for y’all to have to see me again.”  
Artham took a step forward, his eyes still fixed on Fiddleford and filled with… fear? It looked like fear. Why was Artham afraid?  
“I-I c-can go s-somewhere else,” he tried. “I-”  
“Fiddleford, I don’t care about any of that, just don’t-”

Fiddleford took another step back and he realized suddenly that there was nothing below him but air.

Then, he fell.

****

Artham let out a screech and shot forward. He leapt over the cliff and dove, wings pulled close to his body. He swooped down under Fiddleford and caught him, wrapping his friend up in his arms and holding him tightly. Then he flew them up back over the cliff and landed _far_ away from it.

Artham quivered and sank to the ground, holding Fiddleford close.

“Don’t,” he gasped. “Don’t ever do that again.”

****

Fiddleford was falling.

He had just enough time to regret still holding Dora (he hadn’t meant for anything to happen to her, everything happened so fast he didn’t have time to let her go and now-) before strong arms caught him and wrapped around him and held him close and suddenly they were flying up, up, up…

Artham landed and sank to his knees. Fiddleford could fell him shaking.

“Don’t- don’t ever do that again,” Artham whispered fiercely, and Fiddleford felt the first real emotion he’d had besides fear or sadness for the past three days; surprise.  
“W-well okay,” he managed. “But-but I, ain’t, ain’t you mad at me?” he pushed back and looked up at Artham’s face.

Artham looked at him with eyes filled with pain and pulled him back, hugging him closer. “I was never angry. None of us were angry. We were worried about you, I- we, we’ve been looking for you, I was so scared something had happened to you, and something almost did, I-” Artham’s voice shook. “I’m so sorry, Fiddleford. I should have looked after you better. I didn’t realize, I should have, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you too, I can’t, I can’t, I-”

“I’m-I’m sorry I worried you,” said Fiddleford, confused. “I guess I just, I didn’t think you’d miss me after I-I messed stuff up.”  
“I don’t care about any of that,” said Artham. “You’re my friend. You’re my _best_ friend, Fiddleford, I-I don’t believe there’s anything you could do to change that. Now come on, I must get you back to the Castle.”

“Y-y-you what?” Fiddleford did pull back now, and looked up at Artham in terror. “B-but I, that, I can’t- they’re gonna hate me!”  
Artham stared back at him, eyes filled with pain and sadness and shook his head. “No. No they don’t.”  
“But I-”  
“Kalmar has had all of Anniera out looking for you today,” said Artham. “They’re walking through the mountains right now singing and calling for you.”  
Fiddleford swallowed hard. “A-a-an’ what were they gonna do if they found me?”  
Artham let out a broken laugh and pulled him close again. “Take you home! Which is what I’m going to do.”

“W-wait, I gotta get my stuff,” said Fiddleford, suddenly frantic. “An’ Dora, where’s Dora?”  
He had a moment of pure terror where he couldn’t find the kitten and thought he’d dropped her when Artham caught him, then she poked her head out of a gap in Artham’s feathers and squeaked. She trotted up to him and seemed to be grinning.

“There you are,” Fiddleford picked her up and hugged her. “Dora- Dora stopped me from goin’ over the cliff. Well, goin’ over it on purpose, anyway.”  
Artham reached out and pet the kitten gently. “Well I guess that makes her a hero then. Where are your things?”

They retrieved Fiddleford’s pack and banjo from the cave and Artham slung them over his shoulder, then scooped up Fiddleford, who held Dora tight in his arms, and shot into the air, taking them back towards the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dora commentary because that was intense to write:  
> "Dad where are you going? Can I come? I'm coming. Ooooh, this is a nice cliff. What'cha doin', dad? Oh-oh it's time for hugs, yessss, hi dad I love you too. Oh look it's our friend with wings! It is all of a sudden... very windy. Oh now we're back on the cliff. Hello friend with wings! Oh, hugging time again, okay, nice."
> 
> Things will slowly start to get better now!


	7. Love can take a little, love can give a little more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with this chapter, but I've accepted the fact that it isn't perfect and I'm posting it anyway. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This title is a line in another Skillet song, this one called, "A Little More".

Artham forced himself to fly steady, though the absolute terror that had gripped him when Fiddleford fell off the cliff had left him feeling weak and shaken. He tightened his grip on his friend, just a little, and glanced down at him. Fiddleford had curled up against his chest, eyes shut, arms wrapped tight around little Dora, who seemed surprisingly calm considering the fact that they were flying through the air.

It was early afternoon and the searchers hadn’t been out for very long yet but Artham still saw a number of people walking through the mountains. He tried to fly low enough that they’d see him, and he saw several pointing as he went by. He scanned over them, looking for someone in his family.

Finally he located Nia, directing people not far from the river. She looked up when he flew over and he her hovered near her, but didn’t land.

“Nia! I found him!” he called.  
“Oh thank the Maker,” Nia pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’ll need to call the children back-”  
“Meet us at the castle,” said Artham. “And- and warn the children to be gentle.”

He tried to express what he was really trying to say with his eyes, and as he watched Nia’s expression soften into sadness and then harden into determination he decided she understood enough. She nodded at him and he flew off. Several people below him who had heard the exchange started cheering.

“What’s all them people doin’ down there?”  
Artham looked down and saw Fiddleford peeking down at the ground. “I told you Kalmar had all of Anniera looking for you.”  
Fiddleford looked back up at him, frowning. “I don’t… I don’t…” he shook his head and didn’t met Artham’s eyes. “Even when I was tryin’ to not cause trouble I made a mess of things.”  
“You did _not_ ,” said Artham firmly.   
“But all them people lookin’ for me, I-I mean I don’t, I shouldn’t warrant all that, I ain’t nothin’ special,” Fiddleford shivered and Artham held him a little closer.  
“You are to us,” said Artham, quietly.  
“B-but _why_?” asked Fiddleford, looking up at him in confusion. “Why d’you think I, why- I ain’t worth nothin’, why d’you…”

Artham shut his eyes. “I didn’t try to make friends after the war,” he said suddenly. He felt Fiddleford staring at him, but when he opened his eyes he looked straight ahead. “I had my family and I decided to be content with that,” he smiled crookedly. “I’m actually very awkward sometimes when there’s not a crisis going on. And the people who had been Fangs and cloven would have understood why I acted strangely and why I stuttered and sometimes spoke nonsense, but I- I knew them. I’d known some of them before Anniera fell and there were plenty I could have fought in the Blackwood or when they were Fangs. It made me nervous. And then I met you that day in the junkyard and I knew you were like me. I knew you were lost like I had been. And I thought maybe we could be friends. And then I found out that you were kind and thoughtful and lonely and _good_.”

Artham landed in the courtyard of Castle Rysen and headed for the door to the kitchens. “And then I was certain we could be friends. And so I brought you here and I knew that if you gave them a chance my family would welcome you. Because, Fiddleford, they welcomed _me_. I-I have done things that should have been unforgivable and I have been forgiven and loved. I don’t know if- I’ll have to explain to you some day what a Throne Warden is and the story of what happened to me and my brother. But Fiddleford, listen, there is nothing you could possibly do that would cause this family not to love you. Absolutely nothing.”

Artham let them into the abandoned kitchen and stood just inside. He looked down and met Fiddleford’s confused expression and smiled, though there were tears in his eyes.

“And Fiddleford, trust me; to me and those children you are worth _everything_.”

Fiddleford sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Don’t know if I believe that.”  
Artham looked at him sadly. “I hope you will. Now come, let’s get you something to eat before the others get here, since I’m willing to bet you haven’t eaten very much the past few days.”

****

Fiddleford stared at his bowl of soup, shaking and not sure what to do with himself. He heard a soft rustle and knew Artham had come back from getting Dora something to eat. A moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder and Artham sat down next to him.

“Are you alright?”  
Fiddleford gave a broken, watery laugh and shook his head. “No. I’m scared to death. I know what y’said, but I-I’m used to not bein’ any good an’ not bein’ important to anybody. I don’t even know what to do with myself findin’ out I’m somebody’s best friend.”  
There was a pause, then, “Why don’t you start with eating some of your soup. That’ll help a little.”  
Fiddleford nodded hesitantly. He picked up the spoon and tried not to let his hand shake too badly.

He found out that he _was_ hungry and that he did feel better after he’d slurped up the soup. At least he wasn’t so shaky now.

But everything still felt like it was far too much. He had always liked the Wingfeathers, but he had never dreamed they’d like him back so much. It seemed too good to be true. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head against Artham.

“A-Artham,” he said, finally. “I-I know you keep sayin’ this’ll all turn out fine an’ all that, but, but if it don’t, I-I don’t wanna be by myself. You-” he swallowed hard and his voice grew very quiet. “D’you think you could look after me?”

Artham wrapped an arm and a wing around him and pulled him close. “Of course I will.”  
“E-even if I had to leave?”  
“Well, if we had to leave then we’d have to take Aurendelle with us,” said Artham. “But yes, we could come with you.”  
Fiddleford nodded and blinked tears out of his eyes. “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely.

****

They ended up in the sitting room. Artham had said it would be more comfortable and that then they could just meet the others straightaway when they came back. They were sitting on one of the sofas and Fiddleford was half asleep, his head resting against Artham’s shoulder. Dora was curled up next to him, purring very loudly and seeming very happy to be home.

Then suddenly the door swung open and Fiddleford jumped and jerked into a sitting position. He whimpered at the wave of pain that followed that motion, and felt Artham’s hands steadying him.

His vision was still a little blurry when he heard an excited yell and then his eyes focused on Leeli right before she reached up and wrapped him in a hug.  
“Fiddleford!” she squealed. “You’re okay!”  
Fiddleford blinked. “I-I guess I am. H-hi, Leeli.”  
Leeli beamed up at him, then hopped onto the sofa.

Well. At least Leeli wasn’t mad at him. But she was only ten, or, wait, she was eleven now, she’d just had a birthday-

He looked nervously up at the rest of the family. The rest of the children were there, along with Nia, Aurendelle and Podo. He looked down and with an effort hopped off the sofa and stood (though he swayed a little and felt Artham’s hand on his shoulder).

“L-look, I, I know you’re p-probably mad at me, an’, an’ I’m real, real sorry about what I did, I-I just-”  
“Fiddleford.”  
His head jerked up and he saw Kalmar standing there. The boy- oh, oh.

Kalmar was wearing his hat. He couldn’t even begin to process that. But even that didn’t totally assuage his fear. He couldn’t block out the nightmare he’d had where the family and Kalmar had stood before him just like this and Kal had pushed him down and told him to leave, and that he regretted ever letting Fiddleford stay in Anniera.

He shivered, and looked down, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Fiddleford, I forgive you.”

Fiddleford looked up slowly and stared at the little boy. “You what?” he whispered.  
Kalmar smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I forgive you. I was never mad in the first place, but I think you needed to hear that.”  
The boy leaned forward and hugged him tightly. “That, and I love you.”  
“Y-you what?” Fiddleford’s voice cracked.  
Kalmar laughed and pulled back to look at him. “You’re a part of my family! I love you! And I’m glad you’re okay,” Kalmar leaned against him again. “Please don’t run away again, okay?”  
Fiddleford didn’t have any words, so he just patted Kal’s head and hugged him back, tears dripping down his cheeks.  
“I love you too!” announced Leeli, throwing herself into the hug.   
There was a patter of feet and Fiddleford saw Janner and Sara appear and join the hug. From behind him he felt Artham wrap his arms around him and the children and Fiddleford started crying in earnest. Then Nia and Aurendelle and even Podo walked over and joined them.

And then there was a squeak and Dora landed on his head. She looked down into his eyes and gave a pleased sounding mew.

Fiddleford laughed and sobbed and shut his eyes. He couldn’t think about what was going on, he didn’t really understand it.

But with all the love around him he was sure of one thing.

He had a family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Group hug? Group hug.


	8. I get by with a little help from my friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just stealing lines from songs now.
> 
> This chapter is fluff. That's it. It's as fluffy as baby Dora.

Fiddleford woke up the next morning in his bed. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, or what had happened after he was suddenly hugged by the entire Wingfeather family. He decided he must have either fallen asleep or passed out and that someone (probably Artham) had carried him in here.

He had never slept in his bed before. He had tried, but it had always seemed too soft and…

… And he had never really felt like it was his or that he deserved it. However, even though he was still uncertain about the idea of sleeping in a bed on the regular it felt very nice to wake up in one after sleeping on the hard ground for three days. He even hurt less, though his arms, legs and chest still protested mightily when he tried to sit up. He pushed himself up with his arms and tried to get his legs under him, but collapsed again after a moment. Sharp pain shot through his chest and his head pounded. He laid back down and tried to summon up his energy for another attempt.

He heard a squeak and Dora appeared in front of him, looking very pleased. She shoved her head against his and he chuckled.  
“Hi there, you,” he said, reaching up a hand to pet her. “Bet you’re glad to be home.”  
Dora purred and sat down in front of him, leaning her whole body into his touch.

After giving the proper attention to his kitten, Fiddleford tried to sit up again. He managed it this time, and sat back against the wall, panting a bit. Dora watched him with concern.

“I’m alright,” he said, waving a hand at her. “This happens sometimes.”  
“What happens sometimes?”  
Fiddleford jumped and picked up his glasses, finally looking past the edge of his bed. Artham was pushing himself up out of a nest of blankets on the floor, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Artham,” he said, surprised. “Didn’t know you was there!”  
Artham smiled. “I offered to keep an eye on you last night.”  
“I-I didn’t give y’any trouble, did I?” Fiddleford asked, frowning.  
Artham shook his head. “No. You were already asleep when I carried you back here.”  
Fiddleford nodded. “Ah. Thought that must’a been you.”

Artham stretched and his wings spread out behind him, quivering. “Are you ready for breakfast then?”  
“Well, sure, might as well.”

Fiddleford pushed himself off the edge of the bed and landed on his feet.

Instantly the world was spinning. He yelped and pitched forward, but before he could hit the ground strong arms caught him and Artham picked him up and sat him back on the bed.

Fiddleford shut his eyes and willed his body to stop thinking it was moving. Artham kept hold of him and steadied him, which was good because otherwise he figured he’d have fallen off the bed.

Finally he opened his eyes and things were (mostly) still. He still felt unsteady though, and pressed a hand o his forehead.  
“Are you alright?” Artham asked, worriedly.  
“Y-yeah, I’m okay,” Fiddleford started to nod, then stopped himself with a wince. “Don’t- don’t think I can walk though.”  
There was a pause, then Artham said, “I could carry you if you want.”  
Fiddleford blinked and stared at him.  
“Unless you’d rather just eat here, I could bring us breakfast,” said Artham, shrugging.  
“I…” Fiddleford swallowed and looked down. “I-I think it might be good if I was there, I’d like to- to see them kids again, I-I missed ‘em somethin’ awful. But I don’t wanna bother you with carryin’ me, I-I mean-”  
“It’s not a bother,” said Artham. He smiled a little. “You hardly weigh anything at all.”  
“I-I don’t?”  
“No,” Artham’s eyes looked sad.  
“Is-is that a bad thing?” Fiddleford rubbed his blanket between his fingers nervously.  
Artham tilted his head. “It is what it is. It worries me that you weigh so little. You’ve been doing better since coming here, and I was glad of that, but I could tell you hadn’t eaten much for a few days when I carried you back because you weighed almost the same as what you did when you arrived.”  
“O-oh,” Fiddleford blinked. “I-I guess y’keep track of that for yer flyin’, don’t’cha?”  
Artham nodded. “But it’s alright, it’s a problem easily fixed with a few good meals. Speaking of which,” he smiled a little. “We were going to breakfast, weren’t we?”  
“If-if it ain’t no trouble.”  
“It’s not. Do you think you can manage to climb on my back?”

A few minutes later Artham carried him out of the room. Fiddleford found he didn’t really even have to hang on, and relaxed a little, leaning his head against Artham’s back. Dora trotted along with them for a while, then at some point disappeared. Fiddleford was pretty sure she was headed for the kitchens to get her own breakfast and decided not to worry about her. If she could survive climbing a mountain he supposed she could survive wandering around the castle on her own.

Breakfast was good but it tired him out. The children were all there (they had been waiting for him, apparently) though the only adults present were him and Artham. Artham got him some eggs and toast and juice then sat down beside him to eat his own breakfast.

“So Fiddleford,” said Kalmar after a few minutes. Fiddleford glanced at him. The little rascal was still wearing his hat. “I was wondering. When we were looking for you we realized it was kind of important to be able to cross the river Rysen, so Janner and Sara and I built a bridge across it. But it’s not a very good bridge and I was wondering if when you’re up to it if you could help us figure out how to build a better one.”  
Fiddleford tilted his head. “Oh, yeah, I could do that.”  
“Kal thinks we should make it out of metal,” said Leeli.  
“Y’could do that,” Fiddleford started to nod, then winced and stopped. “Y’could even make it a lift bridge so boats could go through.”  
“What’s a lift bridge?” asked Janner.  
“Well, it’s a bridge, but it’s put together in such a way that when a boat comes up to it the bridge kin break apart and lift up on either side’a the river. Then after the boat sails by the bridge goes back into place like it’s one whole thing,” Fiddleford explained.

There was a pause, then Kalmar gave a whoop and grinned. “Yes! We should make a lift bridge!”  
Fiddleford grinned a little and looked back down at his plate.

After that the children filed out of the dining room, but each paused as they went by.  
“Whenever you wanna talk to me about the bridge or any other inventions you can find me doing my T.H.A.G.S. or in meetings, both of which I would love to have interrupted,” said Kalmar cheerfully, and Fiddleford suddenly found that his hat back on his head.  
“And the library’s always open if you want to hide in it or read something,” Janner said, smiling as he went by.  
“And I’m usually in the kitchens if you need anything,” said Sara, patting his shoulder.  
“Or you can come to the music room!” said Leeli, hugging him. “And we can play together. Or you can listen to me. If I’m not there I’m probably in the houndry.”

Fiddleford sniffed and hugged her back. “Thanks, Leeli. Thanks t’all you kids,” he said, pulling back and waving at them, tears making his vision blurry.

They said goodbye and waved and trotted out. Fiddleford sniffed again and rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

When he pulled the sleeve away from his face his eyes widened, and he smacked a hand to his forehead (and immediately regretted it as pain spiked in his head).  
“What’s wrong?” Artham asked, even as Fiddleford started to shake a little.  
Fiddleford looked down at his sweater and started to cry in earnest. “I r-r-ruined it. I just darn went and-” he sobbed.  
Artham took his hand and turned his arm over, inspecting the sweater sleeve. It, and the rest of the sweater, were caked in dried mud, along with dark stains of blood. There were also several rips in the fabric.

Artham slowly shook his head. “It isn’t ruined, Fiddleford,” he said, gently.  
“B-but it’s got stains all over it an’ it’s torn, an’, an’,” Fiddleford’s voice shook.  
“It just needs washed and mended,” said Artham. “It’s perfectly alright beyond that. Trust me, it can be made good as new in a couple of days- I did far worse damage to clothes as a boy and they were all easily fixed.”

Fiddleford rubbed his eyes and tried to stop shaking. “Y’-y’sure?”  
“Positive,” said Artham, nodding. “In fact I think all of you could use a bit of cleaning and mending,” he flipped Fiddleford’s hand over so it was palm up and frowned. “Your hands are in quite a state, and I’m willing to bet your feet are as well.”  
Fiddleford froze. “Oh, oh I f-fergot about yer socks, they’re ruined too, oh, I-I-”  
Artham gently set his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders. “I will make you new socks,” he said calmly. “I will make you a dozen new socks. But for now we need to get you cleaned up, and your injuries treated, alright?”

In answer, Fiddleford leaned forward till his head rested against Artham’s chest. Artham scooped him up and carried him back to his room- stopping at a supply cupboard on the way to pick up some medical supplies.

Artham helped him wash up and change into clean clothes. Fiddleford watched nervously as he set the sweater aside. “Are- are y’sure they can fix it?” he asked quietly.  
Artham nodded. “Yes. We should get you a second one though, so that if one gets dirty like this again you can still have another one to wear.”  
Fiddleford blinked. “Y’don’t have to, I-I’ll be okay with just the one.”  
Artham gently reached out and patted him on the head. “Hush. It will be fine. And just so you know I’m going to knit you a hat for when it gets colder.”  
“I- you, yer gonna do what?”  
Artham chuckled. “Knit you a hat. Don’t worry, you can keep your old one, I just thought that since a knitted one would be warmer it would be better in the winter,” he tilted his head. “I’m not sure I can make it look like the one you have now, but perhaps later you can help me with designing it.”  
Fiddleford stared at him. “I, o-okay, s-sure.”

Artham smiled at him, then looked down at his hands. “Alright, none of your cuts seem deep, but I’m going to clean them and bandage them anyway so that they don’t become infected. Then I’ll do the same for your feet. Are you injured anywhere else, that you’re aware of?”

Fiddleford looked down, twisting his blanket in his free hand. “I hit my head real hard when I- when my invention blew up,” he said quietly. “Hit the rest of me pretty hard too. Didn’t break anythin’, but I hurt an awful lot. An’,” he shut his eyes. “The-the back of my head was bleedin’. Must’ve cut it open when I fell.”

There was silence for a moment, and Fiddleford suddenly started crying again. He was just still so tired and everything hurt and he just wanted it to stop and to feel better and why couldn’t he just be happy he should be happy but he was just so stupid and-

There was a rustle of wings and Artham hugged him, very gently and carefully. Fiddleford let out a sob and buried his face in Artham’s shirt, clinging to it tightly. Artham held him close and, after a moment, started to sing softly.

Finally Fiddleford ran out of tears and just leaned against his friend, feeling Artham’s chest rise and fall and listening to his steady heartbeat.

Artham slipped down off the bed and draped a blanket around Fiddleford’s shoulders. Then, without a word, he cleaned and bandaged Fiddleford’s hands and feet. Then he climbed back on the bed and sat next to Fiddleford, with an arm and a wing wrapped around him.

Fiddleford leaned against him. “I’m a mess, ain’t I?”  
Artham held him a little tighter. “Well, I am too. I’ve just gotten better at hiding it than I used to be.”  
“Heh,” Fiddleford ran a hand over his blanket. “Artham, did-did y’all mean what y’said about me bein’ a part of your family?”  
Artham looked down and met his eyes. “Yes. Absolutely.”  
“Well,” said Fiddleford, snuggling up against him. “I’m real glad of that, then. I-I think I’d like to have a family again. An’, an’ I guess I won’t have t’worry about you lot leavin’ me, huh?” his voice shook a little.  
“No,” Artham said firmly. “You’ll never have to worry about that.”  
“W-well then I-I guess I’ll give it m’best shot,” he said. “At-at bein’ part of a family, I mean. I-I probably ain’t very good at it though.”  
Artham let out a watery chuckle and wrapped his other arm around Fiddleford as well. “You are excellent at it. You’ll see that, in time.”

Fiddleford took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

“I reckon you might be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks! I hope you enjoyed my feelsy little story! If you did, please leave a comment :)
> 
> You can read the rest of my Fiddle in Anniera stories here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963110/chapters/65810365

**Author's Note:**

> Baby Dora is the only thing keeping this story from being ridiculously dark. Also, since she's based off a real cat I had, a lot of the things she does in the story are things she did in real life for me. :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! If you did please leave a comment.


End file.
